


Cartweek the Cursed OTP

by pressedpill



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-08-07 19:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16414604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedpill/pseuds/pressedpill
Summary: AN: it's the thing nobody asked for. That's right, I'm a scavenger.Enjoy some canonical characterization, and Tweek's dialogue not being ALL ANGARHR CAPS.Featuring: all characters of age, adult situations, slightly less repulsive but still socipathic Cartman, and a callback to Tweek's mastery of biology.You're welcome bb~





	1. Fake Boyfriends

The cafeteria was a riot of pink and red, packed full of jostling students. Joining the scraping chairs and clattering dishes, exclamations of overblown teenage emotion rang out over the usual cacophony of voices.

Tweek pushed his food around the plate, acutely aware of the many eyes on him. At his side, Craig heaved a resigned sigh. In tandem, they turned toward each-other, the ambient noise stilling almost immediately.

“Happy Valentine's, Tweek.” Craig produced the same box of chocolates he did every year.

“Thank you.” Tweek did his best to act shy and flattered, as expected.

Craig smiled -a genuine one, born of shared suffering- and planted a kiss on his cheek.

The communal 'awwwwwwww' that followed made Tweek's skin crawl. He'd come to hate that sound with every fibre of his being.

As quickly as it'd been silenced, the clamour of other students rose up again.

Tweek turned back to his food, willing his face not to fall into a bitter frown, just in case anybody was still watching.

Across the table, their friends were also exchanging presents. He'd clearly missed whatever Jessie had been given since she and Clyde were already lip-locked so enthusiastically that Tweek instantly looked away, feeling a little hot in the face.

It was Nichole and Token's chaste but loving kiss, followed by a shared smile and no words, that made the envy rise up in him.

He side-glanced Craig, who had resumed eating. His boyfriend caught his eye, misreading the sentiment behind it entirely, “thank god this is almost over, right?”

Tweek nodded mutely.

True, he hated the spectacle of their relationship. But he loved Craig.

For years he'd desperately wanted that feeling to mature, for them to get closer, just like the other couples around them.

But that compulsory holiday peck was the most intimacy they'd ever shared.

Tweek's efforts to get closer had speedily gone from subtle hinting to blatant flirting, all of which were lost on his friend.

The last straw had been sophomore year, when he'd thrown caution to the wind, pointed at Clyde and his girlfriend making out, and said 'we should do that'.

It had been met with unabashed laughter.

Feeling increasingly embarrassed at his own desperation, Tweek had largely given up trying to get Craig's attention in that vein.

Short of an extremely awkward conversation, or a borderline-legal grope, it seemed to be a lost cause.

“Can we go?” He intoned.

“Yeah. I have a spare last period, I was gonna take off anyway.”

Making their way out of the hall, a few giggles from girls sitting closest to the exit followed.

They were probably imagining the same things he did when he was alone-- daydreams that were becoming less and less likely to come true.

Tweek didn't bother keeping the scowl off his face as they walked down the deserted corridor.

Before Craig headed out the door, he grabbed his hand. “Craig, I...” He met the questioning gaze, the simple care behind it, and swallowed his words. “I uh... I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See ya.” With a wink, the other boy disappeared down the stairs.

Now he was alone with his thoughts, meandering around while legitimate couples were sneaking out to steal kisses behind the school, or making eyes at each-other across their macaroni.

He clenched his teeth, spite decimating his usual worries, until an unexpected voice made him jump.

“Happy Valentine!”

Tweek's stomach did a funny flip, then, abruptly fell when he registered who had said the words.

Cartman was smirking, the 'valentine' he held was the project they'd been assigned for biology.

“Ugh. Can't you at least come over and **pretend** to work on this?”

“No can do. I've got work after school.”

Cartman had maintained his obsession with money over the years, as evidenced by the name-brand clothing covering him head-to-toe. But he had put aside his wild, childish plans in favour of (as he called it) ' _the long con_ ' – working nearly every day either before or after class.

Tweek could sympathize with having little time for schoolwork. He had shifts at his family's shop up to five times a week, but unlike his classmate, didn't get any money for it.

Raising a brow at Cartman's ostentatious watch, he ventured,“then pay me for my time.”

“Hm.” Eric feigned thinking, posing a finger on his chin. “Paying everybody who does my work for me? That sounds like a terrible business plan.”

Shoulders sagging, Tweek relented, taking the stack of books and papers. He didn't want to provoke anything.

Everybody knew that Cartman did construction jobs, but Tweek suspected it was low-level lifting, a position that Eric saw as menial, and therefore kept secret. The latter had gone from a pudgy freshman to a burly senior pretty quickly for somebody who, as he claimed, ' _just ordered people around_ '.

Dumping the project into his bag, Tweek slumped dejectedly to his next class.

“God damnit wait a second. I'll be off at eight. Is that too late?”

“... I guess not.” Tweek turned to see an odd look on the other boy's face. There was something behind it that made him uncharacteristically self conscious.

“Did you forget what day it is though?”

Tweek grimaced. “How could I possibly.”

“I mean, don't you have plans with Craig tonight?”

“Oh.” He felt the prickle of embarrassment in his cheeks. “No.”

Cartman shrugged. “Okay. Well, text me if he shows up with some romantic gayety.”

“Yeah. Right. That'd be online before I could even unlock my phone.” Tweek grumbled, stalking away, aware that the other boy was still staring him down as he retreated.

 


	2. Fandom Ruins Everything

As 8pm approached Tweek tried, with some success, to calm his jangled nerves by remembering Cartman's notorious skirting of responsibilities.

He was surprised at his own relief when the doorbell chimed, his classmate arriving exactly when he'd promised.

Somehow the feeling persisted, even after Eric proved to be exactly as useless as Tweek had anticipated.

Without preamble, Cartman sprawled out on the bed, phone in one hand, a douchey looking weekly mailer in the other.

The minutes ticked by in relative silence.

It would have been fine, in Tweek's opinion (a quiet night of his crappy project partner dozing and him working), if not for the horrible, horrible day.

Valentine's meant his 'followers' were particularly invested, and unusually active.

Another _ding_ cut through the air, this time followed by Cartman's exasperated sigh.

“Stop trading dickpics and finish our homework, Captain Fagular.”

“Okay. I'm **obviously** working on the project. I can't even reach my phone.”

“Mmm.” Said Cartman from behind his magazine.

Rolling his eyes, Tweek tugged the charge cord until he could reach the end.

 _107 new messages_.

“It's this group of fangirls that made me and Craig join. They're posting...” He paused, scrolling through the drabbles, links, and thumbnails.

Inside him, longing mixed with irritation into general anxiety.

“... themed shit.” Tweek finished.

“What, like those drawings?” Cartman sat up and scooched to the end of the bed so quickly that Tweek startled away.

“Some of it is.”

“Let me see.”

With significant struggle, and a lot of screeching from both of them, Tweek managed to keep his phone out of reach.

“QUIT IT IT's not...” he stopped, seeing Eric pause deliberately.

Tweek looked away, the fight slowly draining from him. He slid back into his chair. “... I don't like them.”

“Why? Are they shitty?”

“No.”

“They're super perverted?” Cartman leaned forward grinning, making a noncommittal grab.

“Not really.” Tweek looked down, faced with an illustration of himself and Craig kissing passionately.

It had been drawn two hours ago-- somebody's fantasy of what was happening at this very moment.

It made him profoundly sad.

He revisited every attempt he'd made to get Craig to realize how he felt, analyzed each one to bits, found faults that truly weren't there, and finally, admitted defeat.

He didn't know why, but that **spark** everybody drew, that chemistry people assumed happened between them behind closed doors – it just wasn't there-- and never had been.

“Tweek!”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” He tried in vain to scan the pages on his desk. “So, what part were we on?” He looked up.

This time, it was different. In his own room, head buzzing with the depressing yet familiar feelings he had every February fourteenth, he was able to meet Cartman's gaze.

Behind it wasn't intimidation, but interest.

“Why don't you like them?”

Tweek answered without hesitation, decision made without his typical week-long rumination.

“I know you're a gossip.” He said.

(Eric took a moment to look dramatically scandalized.)

He continued, “But hardly anybody talks to you now, and nobody believes what you say anymore.” He turned the phone around, displaying one of the more intimate drawings. “ **This**. Doesn't happen.”

For a moment, Cartman's mask faltered. “Huh?”

Tweek sighed, looking back at the screen. “Craig doesn't see me that way. We're just friends... no benefits.”

“Oh.”

It was the other boy's turn to avert his eyes. He drew his legs up on the bed, sitting cross-legged. When he spoke again, he was still staring at his folded hands. “Is he straight or something?”

“I really don't know.” Tweek admitted.

“Does he flirt with girls?”

“No.”

“... Guys?”

“No...”

“Welp...” Finally, Eric faced him again, shrewd and somewhat judgemental. “He's probably asexual, then.”

Tweek saw the lingering attentiveness, the boast behind that statement. “I don't want to keep pushing it, especially if I'm the problem.”

Cartman's front of confidence flitted in and out like a shadow. “What, like he doesn't think you're hot? That's dumb.”

Leaning in, Tweek prodded the compliment. “How do you figure?”

His challenge was met. When Eric's darting eyes settled again, they were sure. “Craig's just used to your weird Fake Boyfriends thing.” He said dismissively. “Have you tried anything?”

“Yes.”

Cartman puffed out an annoyed quip. “Anything **serious**.”

“No, Eric. That's amoral.”

“You've got a dirty mind... I like that.”

Tweek felt his insides do an unfamiliar flutter.

He was being looked at with not just curiosity, but ardour.

There was a tension in the air that was entirely alien, yet immediately recognizable.

Lost in the haze of his sudden realization, Cartman's words were distant until he said, “it's getting late, I better go”.

Surreal snapped into hyper-real when Eric stood, pulling Tweek up by the hand.

“If you ever drop the act...”

An intake of air hitched in Tweek's chest as the other boy drew closer. He knew **exactly** what was about to happen, and his whole body keened for it to play through.

Whatever expectations he had, both for the moment itself and the person he was sharing it with, disappeared.

Tweek closed his eyes, angling his head into the palm that cupped his cheek, feeling lips brush against his.

Cartman smelled overwhelmingly like body spray, but a subtle note of acrid machinery lingered.

Hesitantly, Tweek met the embrace, moving against a mouth that was soft and still, waiting...

When he pressed forward, looping an arm around Eric's shoulders, the other boy continued, tongue sweeping against Tweek's lower lip until he met it with his own. It was oddly sweet, a flavor Tweek couldn't quite place.

Every part of the experience was refreshing: the privacy, the passion, and most of all, the reciprocation.

He felt Eric's hands run down his back, urging him forward.

As their bodies met, Tweek broke off a moan, jumping back. “Oh-- shit. Sorry. No, I---”

Cartman smiled, unfazed. “the rest of that was... _If you ever drop the act_ come see me.”

Staring at the floor, Tweek's brain tried to compute those words through the knowledge that, when their hips had met, both he and Eric had been hard.

It was astoundingly hard to breath.

On an exhale he managed, “okay”.

As the door closed, Tweek slumped back, his mind divided between the abject shame of jerking it to what just happened, and the pressing need to do just that.

The latter won.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, he sped out of his house, phone in hand.

 

  * Tweek  
u up?  
  

  * Craig  
... ya?  
  

  * Tweek  
i'm outside



 

Craig appeared in the doorway, clad in pyjamas, expression thoroughly confused.

Tweek doubled over, panting, “I... wanted... to talk...”

“What's wrong?” Descending the steps, he wrapped Tweek in his arms.

Catching his breath in increments, he straightened up. Staring into his friend's familiar face, the love, however platonic, was clear in Craig's expression.

Tweek's words failed him.

His instincts screeched at him to simply run away. The coherent part of his brain was already making up excuses.

Instead, he stood up on his toes, and leaned in.

He met his boyfriend's lips, trying with softness, then persistence, to draw **something** from the embrace.

Gradually, the mouth beneath his own opened, and Tweek deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around Craig, pulling him closer with minute resistance.

Abruptly, they parted.

Freeing one of his hands, Craig wiped his mouth. “Are you okay?”  
Tweek stepped back, appraising the reaction to his ministrations.

Craig was concerned, but little else.

“Do you think about me?”

“What?”

“When you're alone... do you think about me?”

“Of course. I'm always worried about you.”

Tweek's heart dropped. “Oh.”

The other boy looked down at him, brows knitted.

“I...” The panic that had been rising in Tweek's chest overrode any logical speech he could have cobbled together. “I have to go. Don't worry-- sleep tight!”

And he ran, Craig waving slowly in his wake.

 


	3. Goddamnit, Clyde

Sun spilled into the room, forming a perfect square directly over Tweek's face. He threw an arm across his eyes, rolling away from the offending light. It felt as if he'd only slept for a few hours.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!” Cartman planted a theatrical _smack_ somewhere near Tweek's mouth.

“Jesus Christ.” He managed, voice still rough with sleep. Groggily he pulled himself up.

Beside him, Eric continued to laugh uproariously at his own antics.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You wanted to finish the project.”

“What time is it?”

“Nine.”  
“In the morning?” Tweek groaned, slumping forward.

“Yeah, you really overslept. Class is starting.”

Tweek shot him a murderous look. “I have a spare. So do you. It's **the same class**.”

“Don't worry, I brought some liquid energy.”

A cup from his family's shop was thrust into Tweek's hand.

Making peace with the fact Cartman wasn't going to leave such a perfect opportunity to be a shitbag, he snapped off the lid, and gulped it down.

The other boy clapped his hands, rambling a little breathlessly. “I had a few sips on the way over, damn man, I don't know how you aren't bouncing off the walls twenty-four seven.”

“Aruhgh.”

“Up and at'em.” Eric took Tweek by the arm, dragging him out of bed.

“Fine”. He grated. “Just lemme shower and get dressed.” He returned Cartman's sly grin and attempt to follow flatly. “Fuck. Off.”

Grabbing a handful of clothes, he retreated into the bathroom.

With a moment to himself in relative quiet, Tweek frowned.

He finished his coffee, and stepped under the water.

There was no question, he was happy that Eric showed up, and even felt a little fluttery in the stomach imagining what could happen.

It was a welcome change from the gripping anxiety he'd felt all weekend.

He had been certain Cartman would immediately blackmail him, spilling everything, destroying any control Tweek could still manage over the situation.

Not that he'd done a stellar job of that so far.

He hadn't been able to face his boyfriend since Friday night's disastrous series of events.

Craig had sent a few worried messages Saturday morning, but had been placated by replies explaining stress over schoolwork, being overwhelmed by their fans, and having twelve hour shifts the next two days.

It wasn't exactly a lie.

Sighing, he cranked off the water.

By the time he emerged, awake but still ruminating, his classmate already appeared to be hard at work.

Cartman had actually cleared off a spot on the floor, filling it instead with neat stacks of paper, and was currently staring down at an open book rested on his knee.

“Oh.” Tweek sat down across from the other boy. “What did you want me to do?”

“Finish our homework.”

His pleasant surprise was short lived.

Leaning over, he squinted at what Eric was reading. “That's a fucking jet ski ad!”

“Extended research.”

Tweek scrubbed his face. “You are so useless, man.”

“In this case? Totally.” Finally he looked up. “I get it. You want to work in private.”

“See, I can't tell if you're being a shitbag on purpose or if this is inborn dumbassery.”

“Could be either.” Cartman snapped the book shut. “You want me to go?”

“No.” Tweek admitted.

With zero acknowledgement that he'd heard, Eric continued, “I've been up since four-thirty, but I don't think I can sleep now. Definitely feel like beating the shit out of a drum. Or cranking some techno music and cleaning my bathroom top to bottom.”

Despite himself, Tweek laughed. “Now who's a spaz.”

The reply didn't miss a beat, “still you.”

Tweek kicked Cartman in the leg, only to be grabbed by the foot and yanked over. Still laughing, he halfheartedly fought back.

Eric released him, letting Tweek's legs rest over his lap. “We could take a study break.” He waggled a brow.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Tweek weighed his guilty conscience against the anticipation he'd been trying to ignore since the moment he woke to Cartman's grinning face.

“I feel bad.”

“Then don't.”

Tweek rolled his eyes. “It doesn't work like that.”

“Why'd you invite me over, then?”

“Wh- b--” Tweek sputtered. “We were assigned this and I asked you **way** before... you know.”

“I don't. Explain in detail.” Cartman retorted, feigning innocence.

“Fuck off.” The smile lingering on his lips faded slightly. “You know... I haven't told anybody we kissed... Have uh... have you?”

“How could I?” He quoted, “ _nobody talks to me or believes me anymore._ ”

“Buh.”

“You wanted privacy. That's coo.”

Tweek shouldn't have been shocked that everything he'd said was categorically thrown back at him. As dumb as people said Cartman was, he had an infinite mental catalogue for information that could potentially be used to his advantage.

“I don't know what to do.” He murmured.

“Nothing to do yet.”

“What do you mean _yet_?” Tweek narrowed his eyes, still suspicious that he was being set-up for some master humiliation.

“Unless you want to shake things up... ?” Cartman paused, as if the words were an offer Tweek would be keen to take.

“ **No.** No starting shit.”

“In that case, there aren't enough footholds to plan anything, so life goes as it goes.”

“is this the monstrous version of _cross that bridge when we come to it_.”

“Never heard of it.” Eric smiled, resting his back against the wall. “Either start scheming or get over here.”

When Tweek sidled over, he was hastily pulled to straddle the other boy's lap. An arm looped behind his neck, drawing him into a kiss. He parted his lips, grasping Cartman's shoulders to steady himself as their embrace rapidly became more enthusiastic.

Worries about inexperience and clumsiness fell away as the sweeps of his tongue coaxed out a low moan.

They broke apart briefly, breathless and flushed.

Behind them, Tweek's phone buzzed again, as it had been all morning.

“Ignore that.” He panted.

Eric obliged, rekindling the embrace, hard and insistent at first, then softer as he slipped a hand under Tweek's shirt.

An unintentional noise escaped Tweek as those digits grazed his nipple, sensation bolting straight to his erection. Face burning, he rolled his hips forward, embarrassment lost in need.

Dropping a hand to Cartman's thigh, he moved it up gradually, distracted by the other boy's attention, held back less and less by his self-consciousness.

He was just about to reach Eric's belt-line when his phone buzzed so relentlessly that it fell off his desk with a clatter.

Reluctantly, they parted, the silence now cut by Tweek's annoyed hiss. “The fuck...” He stood, grabbing the offending device, swiping to see what was going on.

The fannon group was going crazy.

He scrolled through, first with irritated swipes, then slower, feeling like he couldn't quite catch his breath.

An image made him freeze.

There was already art.

 _Fucking fanart_.

“What?” Cartman ventured.

Tweek held up a finger, opening the other window that had activity.

 

  * Clyde  
Hay Im across the street wanna walk 2gether  
  

  * Clyde  
check phone fuckface  
  

  * Clyde  
is cartman at ur door???  
  

  * Clyde  
dude wtf  
attachment: IMG_20173.JPG  
  

  * Clyde  
dudde. call em



 

“Oh Jesus.”

Tweek clicked back to the art, a perfect imitation of the photo his friend had sent.

The exact moment that Cartman had jokingly kissed him that morning was now immortalized by Clyde's camera.

If karma existed, Tweek had definitely lost all of it in one fell swoop to deserve this.

Clyde's post was re-upped, re-blogged, then quickly followed by artistic interpretations of the scene. New additions were popping up by the minute.

“Everybody knows.” Tweek managed, voice barely a whisper.

Reluctantly, he handed his phone over.

He expected Cartman to be angry-- annoyed at the very least.

To his surprise, the other boy laughed.

“Sweet. They drew me hot in the face.”

“What?”

“You know.” Eric motioned with his hand, as if it weren't clear. “Not a hoggy horrorshow.”

It took Tweek several minutes to rally. “You're... not mad?”

Cartman looked quizzical. “Why are you?”

“I'm not mad... yet. Just freaked out. Okay, no, now I'm mad.” Tweek startled, realizing he hadn't been told to calm down, or to look at anything from another point of view.

Eric had said his part, and that was that.

Anger and a feeling Tweek couldn't quite place collided, leaving him frazzled. “You gotta go.”

“That sucks.”

“ **Because**...” He looked up, disarmed. “Oh, you didn't ask a question.”

Cartman raised his brows, motioning at the pages strewn around. “That's coo, you good with finishing this?”

Tweek slumped over. “Argghghhh.”

 

 


	4. Shitting it Up

Telling Craig about what had happened turned out to be a lot harder than Tweek had anticipated. And that was saying something, considering his mind always jumped to the worst possible scenario.

The pair currently stood on Craig's doorstep. Tweek had refused the offer to come in, already overwhelmingly nervous without being trapped inside.

But he was rooted to the spot in shock.

Craig didn't believe the rumour was true.

The reactions Tweek had imagined --anger, sadness, even disgust-- would have made the betrayal easier to admit.

“Come on, dude.” Craig said, bemused. “You've gotto laugh at this stuff or you'll drive yourself crazy.”

“Craig...”

“We'll just go to school tomorrow like normal and tell everybody it's bullshit. That'll be the end of that.” His expression fell incrementally as Tweek stared at him, tense and quiet.

“Babe, what's wrong?”

Tweek flinched at the pet name. “It's true.” He managed. “About Eric and me.”

The confession felt like bile in his throat.

“You're fucking with me.” Craig still looked cautiously amused, like he was being pranked. But as the silence stretched between them, his tone became cautious. “... aren't you?”

“No.”

“Wh... but **why**?”

“I can't...” Tweek turned away from the hurt in his friend's eyes as if struck by it.

Every muscle in his body told him to flee, but he owed Craig more than that.

“I can't play boyfriends anymore. I tried to tell you but it was awkward to bring up--”

“So you immediately ran to **Cartman**?” Craig interjected tersely.

“No! I mean, that's not what happened!” Tweek tried to keep his voice down, to sort the mishmash of explanations in his brain.

Emotions, thoughts, and memories overlapped, vying for what would be voiced first.

There was so much he hadn't told Craig...  
Feelings and desires he'd bottled up, years of wasted hope, vain efforts, and constant disappointments regarding what their relationship could be.

Tweek had prayed he would be able to calmly tell Craig why he had to move on, and deliver a sincere apology for not executing it better.

But, as his fears had predicted, he had lost control. Panic gripped him, cutting off words.

Frustrated and disappointed in himself, he thrust a letter at his friend's chest.

He'd written everything out.

The entirety of what he hadn't said over their years together was laid bare on two pages of smudged, dog-eared honesty.

“I didn't want it to go down like this.” He croaked. “Just. Read it... please.”

Craig's fingers brushed his briefly as he took the envelope, expression softening at Tweek's distress.

It made him feel exponentially worse.

He had wanted something real for so long.

And without warning here it was: messy, confusing, and painful.

“I don't think I can read this in front of you.” Craig mumbled.

Tweek gave a jerky nod, backing down one step.

Slowly, the Tucker's front door closed in front of him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorty but sweetie.  
> Wait no this was horrible to write.  
> Creek is my jam.  
> Cartweek just haunts me day and night until I exorcise it from my mindweave.  
> Don't worry the next part is juicy and more than 5 words long.  
> (oh, yas, also-- if it wasn't obvious i have no editors so ... msg any mistakes you notice hunnies, save me from my idiocy ♥️ xoxoxo)


	5. Fucking Around

Walking down the hallway the next morning, Tweek was met with exactly two expressions: worry and hate. He despised both, stalking through the crowd at double-speed.

Most of all, he dreaded running into Craig and seeing which side he'd chosen.

Above the murmur of voices that filled the corridor, one rang out.

“Tweek! Wait.” Wendy grabbed his sleeve, halting him between two banks of lockers. “Is it true?” Her dark eyes were filled with the same pity he'd seen after his first break-up.

It made the anger more acute, pushing his words forward with more force than he'd intended.

“Yes, mind your business.”

“I just want to check if you're okay...” She pleaded.

Tweek wrenched his arm away from her. “Of course I am.”

Before he could say anything else, a figure pushed through the eavesdropping students, taking position so they formed a half-circle, away from everybody.

“Wendy, are you digging for gossip again?” Heidi stood, hands on hips, her perfect makeup vanishing under a cutting gaze.

“No, no-- I'm worried. You must be t-”

“ **Must** I?” Heidi moved in closer.

Tweek backed toward the corner slightly, not quite sure who was on his side at this point.

“Look, I...” Wendy's eyes met Tweek's. “Are you sure about this...?”

Another sharp look from Heidi cut her short.

Tweek nodded once.

“Okay.” At length, Wendy moved away, into the crowd.

“God. What a hypocrite. You **know** she just wants details like everybody else, psh.” Heidi turned so she and Tweek were facing into the small alcove.

“I guess.” He felt attacked from every side, defeated in the aftermath of trying to flee from the limelight. If anything, it was worse than ever.

“Whatever. She might be nosey, but Wendy's right. I **do** know what this...”, Heidi motioned to the horde of judging student eyes, “... is like.”

“Yeah?”

“It sucks.”

“Yeah.”

She lowered her voice, enough that they wouldn't be overheard. “Do you... **like** him?”

“Not really.”

Heidi's eyebrows shot up before she managed to compose herself. Then, she nodded, seemingly impressed. “Okay, what is it then?”

Tweek deflated. “Seriously? I just wanna fuck around. Sorry. I'm too tired to be polite. Everybody else is just out there, doing what they want, and I don't give a shit anymore.”

To his surprise, Heidi burst out laughing. “That's fine, then.”

“... you're not going to lecture me?”

“About playing the field? Sweetie, please. We're teenagers. What better excuse to be dumb and horny about everything? This isn't the time to be acting out some sham just to placate idiots.”

“Right?” Tweek's spirits lifted. “... Wait, you **knew**?”

Still chuckling, Heidi put a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer. “Tweek, I'm not a fangirl. And I've had my share of one-sided romantic pining... enough to recognize it anyway.”

Tweek felt the heat in his face, never having considered that somebody could see past his charade.

“Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me.” Her expression immediately turned somber. “Don't catch feelings, though. I'm serious.”

And at that, with a call of 'message me whenever', she disappeared into the scrum.

To his relief, most of the students had dispersed, and Tweek made it to the classroom door with much less gawking.

On the other hand, when he peered inside, Cartman's seat was empty. A quick scan of the few standing figures revealed that his project partner wasn't there.

“... motherfucker.” He snapped, whipping out his phone and sending a hasty text of ' _where are you_ '.

At second bell, still with no reply, he went and took his seat solo.

Heart beating frantically through the first two presentations, Tweek started to realize that getting a terrible grade because he was alone and unprepared was better than doing **anything** public with Eric at this point.

So, he got through what little material he had, took questions with remarkable composure, and thanked small blessings that the lunch bell rang right after he trailed off.

His classmates rushed out, leaving Tweek to type out a truly vile text to Cartman, which he deleted hastily without sending.

It was his own fault for hoping, even vaguely, that a guy renowned for ditching on anything that wasn't Automatic Fail would show up.

Fingers tightening around his phone, Tweek sped out into the hall, dropped his bag in his locker, and strode out the door.

Intent on catching Cartman doing something typically lazy, or backhanded, Tweek headed straight to his classmate's house and hammered on the door.

He was a little startled when Mrs. Cartman answered, smiling pleasantly. “Oh hi there. You're Eric's friend.”

Tweek stared. “Nnng. Is he home?”

“I'm afraid he's not feeling well.”

Fury still on the back-burner, Tweek clenched his teeth. “Can I see him?”

Cheerily, she ushered him in. “I'm sure he'd like that.”

Stepping in, Tweek was met with a strong wave of nostalgia.

Everything was exactly as it had been when they were kids: the couch, the childhood photos of Eric and his mother, the awful wallpaper. Even the smell was the same.

Awkward under Mrs. Cartman's placid regard, Tweek slipped off his shoes and quickly clambered upstairs.

Out of view, he paused a moment before cracking the door to Eric's room.

Unlike the main floor, it had been completely renovated.

Meagre light came from a bedside lamp near the entrance, as well as three neon fish tanks on the far wall. The smallest was empty, while the other two --elaborate and adorned with expensive looking equipment-- held schools of bright blue and orange fish respectively.

His attention snapped to movement on the bed as Cartman sat up.

“What do you want?”

“... you weren't in school.” He ground out, stepping around the door.

“Yup.”

Furious words Tweek had been holding in since being ditched that morning vanished. He took in the bruises across Eric's face, the sling holding his arm, and the nasty split in his lip.

“What the fuck happened?”

Cartman shrugged. “Got into a fight.”

Hesitantly, Tweek made his way to the bed, perching on the side. “Why?”

“Why'd you think.” Eric replied flatly, meeting his eye.

The paranoid part of Tweek's brain analyzed each injury, assessing if they could have been self-inflicted to garner pity. But he'd been in enough fights to know a legit shitkicking when he saw one.

Cartman wasn't lying.

“Damn...” He breathed.

“You've got some loyal fans.” Eric smiled, the expression skewed by swelling. “I'm a little jealous to be honest.”

Tweek flopped backward. “I hate this so much.”

Leaning forward, the other boy hovered over him. His uninjured hand appeared, pointing directly at the worst of the damage.

Whatever witty quip he had was cut off by Mrs. Cartman's singsong voice from the other side of the door.

“Sweetie, do you want more tea?”

Eric sat back against the headboard, cowed by the interruption. “Yes, mam.”

Tweek instinctively jumped to his feet, putting a respectable distance between himself and the other boy.

Sidling in, Mrs. Cartman left a tray with two large mugs and a teapot on her son's bedside table. “Here you go, hun.” She exited with a wave, seemingly unconcerned with Tweek being there at all.

Eric coughed uncomfortably, picking up one of the mugs and sipping to hide his embarrassment.

“Have one,” he offered.

After some trepidation, Tweek climbed up and sat on the bed, taking the remaining cup. He lifted it to his lips, then paused. “Wait. What's in this?”

“Tea? And lemon...” Eric added lightly, “... and codeine... Hey! Don't give me that look, crystalbrew.”.

Pursing his lips, Tweek took a grudging sip.

That was the taste-- the taste that was always on Eric's lips.

For a time they drank in silence.

Bit by bit, the persistent worry in the back of Tweek's mind eased. He spoke first, describing the sub-par presentation he'd given, which would surely garner a terrible grade.

The story seemed funnier than it had been in the fluorescent glare of the classroom.

His body felt relaxed, his mind quieted.

Leisurely, he moved on to relate what had happened between himself and Craig.

 **That** still wasn't funny, but it didn't decimate him the way it had up until that moment.

“I still think it was shitty... how I handled... stuff.” Tweek admitted, swallowing with some difficulty.

“That sucks.” Eric intoned.

“And everybody's all over me still. It's exactly what I didn't want.”

“South Park isn't known for its long-term memory.”

“What do you mean?”

Cartman's uninjured arm hooked around Tweek's waist to draw him closer. “Give it a few weeks. Something insane will happen, and **this** ,” He indicated the space between them, “won't even be on the radar.”.

Tweek glanced down. Though he'd turned his phone to silent, he could still see the little alert light flashing. “I guess-”

His words were lost under Eric's lips, insistent against his own. He relaxed into it, tasting the flavor he'd now experienced first hand.

He pressed forward, still somewhat distracted until the first pleased intonation.

Raising a hand to lightly grasp the back of Eric's head, he met his tongue languidly.

Unlike their previous encounters, it was unhurried, pleasure taking the place of immediate need.

He turned slightly, pressing his hips against the other boy's thigh. The fervor grew, progressing from measured exploration to tantalizing grinding.

One-handed, Cartman lifted Tweek into his lap, breaking the kiss.

A flash of crimson made the latter pause. He brought a hand up to his own lips, startling at the blood on his fingertips.

“Oh shit... sorry.” He murmured, seeing the cut on Eric's lip had opened.

“Don't be.”

The hand that had been on Tweek's hip slid forward, resting at the top of his pants.

Their eyes met, and with a minute nod, Cartman deftly undid the button and slid his fingers inside.

Tweek fell forward, unprepared for the reality of skin-on-skin contact. His moan was muffled by the other boy's shoulder, but clearly did not go unnoticed, as the attention to his erection heightened.

With significant focus, he also reached down, past the waistband of Carman's sweatpants.

As best he could, Tweek mirrored the movements, encouraged by the low notes of pleasure summoned by his touch.

But Eric's advances were practised, lingering at just the right time, squeezing at exactly the right place.

Before Tweek could really register shame at how quickly it happened, he was teetering on the edge of orgasm.

With both hands, he grabbed the other boy's wrist. “S-stop.” The word was somewhere between a groan and gasp.

Cartman stopped, as requested, brows raised.

“I can't do... both at once.” Tweek said sheepishly.

“Then don't.” Eric captured his mouth and shook off the hands that had been stilling his own. His strokes steadily grew faster, the kiss growing more fevered in kind.

Tweek thrust into the skillful palm, his cry of climax muffled by Cartman's lips.

At length, the tongue against his own became more gentle, moving away until they were barely touching.

Still catching his breath, Tweek sat back, the lethargy that had settled over him somewhat disturbed by knowing it was his turn, and that he had no idea what he was doing.

His actions were solely on impulse, as if challenged.

Before there was time for any undermining words to be uttered, Tweek freed Eric's erection with one hand, and bowed down.

His tongue grazed its tip, followed by a slightly surprised gasp.

Cartman clearly hadn't been expecting him to do that, which felt like a victory, regardless of how adept he was.

After a few cautious lathes, which Tweek tried to disguise as best he could as teasing rather than terror, he took Eric's cock in his mouth.

Gradually he moved down, bracing himself with one hand and accompanying the path of his tongue with the other.

The constant chattering of his mind was derailed with every sigh he elicited. He moved faster, as low as he could, trying to imitate what he'd seen online.

Falling into a rhythm, apprehension faded to arousal, only held at bay by the mounting volume of the other boy's reactions.

He could feel the pulse beneath his lips, and to his surprise, _taste_ how close Cartman was.

Tweek tried to time it so he was working more with his hand than his mouth when Eric finally came, but was still caught by surprise.

He straightened abruptly, coughing into the crook of his arm.

“Thanks for warning me, dillweed.” He ground out.

“You're welcome.” Cartman chuckled, still breathing hard, and clapped him on the back.

“Do you have tissues?” Tweek managed, still holding his sticky hand to the side.

“May as well use your shirt.”

He looked down, the aftermath of their foray clearly down his front. “Fuck. I have to go back to school, man.”

“Why?”

Tweek slumped forward, not bothering to engage. Unbuttoning his shirt, he scrubbed his hands and chin with it before throwing the balled garment onto the floor. Without invitation, he hopped off the bed and opened Eric's closet, ignoring the indignant _hey now_ that followed.

The first thing he found that wasn't emblazoned with wildly offensive slogans was a white tee with gold print gems and a massive logo on the front. Tweek pulled it over his head.

It hung off him, the epitome of a Walk of Shame Ensemble.

“Doesn't look too good on you.” Cartman pointed out lazily.

He looked awfully comfortable, propped up on pillows, a mug once again in his hand.

For a moment, Tweek considered playing hooky.

But his grades were poor enough as it was, and the (extremely vocal) superstitious part of his brain said he had to atone for the karmic faux pas he kept committing.

Grabbing his own cup, Tweek refilled it, downed the lot, and set it back on the tray. “Thanks. Feel better.” He managed, slipping out the door.

Cartman watched him leave, a mix of entertainment and bafflement on his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special guest star: Cartman's cannonical codeine tea (Let Go, Let Gov s17e1)  
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	6. You Can't Fix This

Sneaking in while everybody was still mingling and chatting, Tweek took the closest seat, let his bag fall to the floor, and sunk down.

A few minutes later the teacher arrived, looking just as faded as he felt.

“Okay.” She said slowly, opening a schedule. “Book reports.”

Her eyes landed on him momentarily, then moved on.

A wave of relief and gratitude washed over him.

Unfortunately, her next choice of presenter didn't let him zone out as he'd hoped.

“Craig Tucker?” She called, eyes scanning the page in her hand, “'All the Bright Places'?”

Locking his eyes on the blank page in front of him, Tweek resisted the temptation to watch his friend.

He had taken being Craig's 'boyfriend' as a free pass for so long. It was jarring to think that, now, it wasn't appropriate to stare.

Instead, Tweek listened to the atonal voice, it's familiarity marred by uncharacteristic fumbles.

Craig rarely tripped over his words, but he was struggling through the report.

Rallying, Tweek glanced up, noting in one sweep that his friend looked wan, as if he hadn't slept.

Remorse wrenched away the comfortable haze that had settled over him.

He wanted to talk to Craig so badly, but didn't know how severely he'd damaged their dynamic.

The past few years they'd spent almost every moment together.

Tweek was used to being able to gauge how his friend would react to things, and above all else, how to support him.

Now it was all a mystery: a terrible, gut-churning mystery.

When last bell rang, Tweek remained at his desk, waiting for everybody else to exit the class, too spent to deal with either fans or foes.

Stepping out into the already darkening day, his phone buzzed.

For a giddy moment, he wondered if it would be Craig asking to meet.

 

Dad 

Hello Son, please come home directly. This is your father.




No offer to pick him up, no explanation.

Tweek sighed. “Typical.”

By the time he had tromped through the snow-blanketed fields from the school to his house, the streetlights were on and the air was thick with flurries.

Giving his front door a kick to dislodge its icy seal, Tweek stumbled inside.

The first thing that caught his eye was his mother, dressed smartly, transferring some sort of casserole to a fancy dish.

It smelled nice, but not usual, which made him immediately uneasy.

A few minutes later, Tweek's dad appeared, also in his Sunday best. “Oh good, there you are.”

“Why are you both here? Who's running the shop?”

“We closed early for the night.”

“Why?” Vague suspicion was quickly turning into dread. “What's going on?”

“We're all going to the Tucker's for dinner.”

Like a rock, Tweek felt his heart drop clear out of his body.

He didn't know how long he spent, staring mutely. Long enough for his dad to shake him by the shoulder.

“Come on now, son. Go get dressed.” His father's eyes lingered with some confusion on the too-large and uncharacteristic shirt Tweek was still wearing. “Something nice, with a collar.”

“Wait.” He shook his head. “Why are we going over there?”

“I heard you and Craig hit a little rough patch, so we're going to smooth everything over.”

“I-- I don't want to do that.”

“Don't worry, we'll be there to help and support you, son.”

“No, you're not hearing me. I mean I literally don't want to get back together with Craig. _I_ broke up with _him_.”

“We'll fix that right up.” The words were soft, yet careless.

Frustration made Tweek's response tremulous and overly loud. “You can't _fix_ this!”

“You're very emotional about it, of course. But both families agree a little sit-down meal and a frank conversation will get everything back on track.” He grabbed Tweek's arm, sending him tripping up the first few stairs.

“This makes no sense! I won't go.”

“We're all going together, you don't have to panic.” His mother was calling up to him now.

Followed by his father adding, “and wear dress pants as well.”

Beaten down, he relented.

The drive over was a stressful blur of Tweek's dwindling attempts to convince his parents that things couldn't be mended, versus the impenetrable wall of his father's unnatural obsession.

At the Tucker's doorstep, Tweek's complaints finally fell silent. Nerves were chewing at him as they were ushered in.

Clearly a lot of planning had gone into the night.

Plates of appetizers were set out in the den, a fire had been lit in the hearth, and the dining room table was fully-decked in white linen and crystal platters.

The adults immediately began milling around, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries.

Trisha emerged from upstairs to give Tweek a hug so forceful it was obviously neither a greeting nor friendly.

From the steely looks Mr. Tucker kept casting his way, not everybody was as keen as his own parents to forgive and forget.

Ten minutes of food-serving bustle ensued wherein he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

Then, amid the flurry of activity, Craig finally stepped into the room.

Rather than his usual layers of winter clothes, he wore fitted slacks and a blue v-neck. Tweek stared, unaware of even doing so until Mrs. Tucker announced dinner was served.

With a startle, he tore his eyes away, and sat in the chair that was offered.

Craig was seated at his right, and across from him was Trisha.

She continued to shoot nasty looks his way, mouthing insults whenever he caught her eye.

If it weren't for the single remaining strand of self control holding him up, Tweek would have simply let his head fall into his plate and given up being present at all.

A vivid memory kept replaying in his mind: the first time he'd sat in that exact spot, out of his mind with anxiety, and Craig squeezing his hand under the table. The little smile his friend had given him at that time had made him feel so calm.

Now he was on his own, and being attacked from all sides.

“Isn't it too soon for the boys to get back together?” Mr. Tucker was saying, a clear current of distrust lacing the question.

“Oh, I don't think so.” His father cut in quickly. “Tweek made some very poor choices, but nothing that can't be worked through, right son?”

He gripped his fork with such force that it shook against his plate. “No.”

“Right, with a little effort, things will be back to normal in no time.”

“That's not what I meant.” He ground out.

Beside him, Craig was very still, cutting up his food and eating slowly.

He didn't say a word.

Mr. Tweak took the floor for the majority of the discussion, going on a sentimental tirade about the importance of putting time into love, the dedication behind romance, and -of course- characteristically tying the whole theme into how good coffee should be brewed.

Tweek wasn't sure how much more he could take.

His anger was just below the surface, about to boil over, when Craig finally spoke.

“Can we be excused?”

The adult's chatter cut off abruptly for a moment.

“I think that would be fine.” Mrs. Tucker intoned, glancing at her husband. He crossed his arms, unsmiling, but ultimately nodded.

“Right, some privacy to discuss everything that you've learned tonight.” Mr. Tweak smiled blandly.

Tweek sucked in air through his teeth, but the pithy reply was lost as Craig hoisted him up by the elbow and practically dragged him upstairs.

He left the door to his room open, the hallway light illuminating where they stood.

“We'll be able to hear if anybody comes up to eavesdrop.” Craig murmured.

Even with all that had happened, the attraction Tweek felt instantly flooded back full force.

He definitely couldn't do the friend thing. There was no going back.

“Are you okay?” Craig was peering at him through the dimness.

“I should ask you. I'm the one who wrecked everything.”

Craig's shoulders sagged. “I don't know about that. I read your letter... there just wasn't much to say about it, so I didn't know what to do.”

“Oh.”

“I uh...” Craig scratched the back of his head, looking away as he spoke. “I've missed you, though.”

The words felt like a spear. “Aren't you jealous? Or mad?”

“Not really. Just disappointed and confused and... well fuck it, _lonely_.

We spent every day together, Tweek. I always knew I could count on you not to blow me off for a girl or whatever, and that we could call each-other any time of day and be there.” He took a step closer, hand twitching at his side before he decided against whatever contact he was about to make.

Tweek could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

Craig was so close, and he smelled so good.

The years of pining and fantasizing, time he'd managed to repress recently, jumped to the forefront. “I want that back too. So much.”

His words were a little breathless, a little too fast. “But even now, looking at you- I can't. I can't just act like a friend when all I want to do is kiss you and throw you down and--” he broke off with a cough, not having meant to get so graphic but having little restraint left after the day he'd endured. “Sorry.”

Craig was staring back, equally red in the face. “Maybe talking about this in a dark bedroom wasn't a good idea.”

“Yeah.”

“What about some boundaries? Like...” Craig paused, considering. “... chatting on the phone and messaging is okay, and you come sit with us at lunch again?”

Tweek mulled it over. “I guess. It's worth a try.”

 

 

Lunches during his first week 'back with the gang' were pretty much as awkward as Tweek had feared.

Token was reserved in his judgement, while Nichole occasionally brought up Tweek's lack of decorum back when everything had gone to pieces.

Jimmy kept passing on, what he called, “personal life lessons about the dangers of thinking with your dick”.

That was easily the most mortifying topic that crossed the table.

At a close second were Clyde's jabs at Cartman, and his constant hinting that Tweek was fundamentally fucked up. He was clearly still angry on Craig's behalf, despite the latter's occasional quips that he needed to keep some thoughts to himself.

The first few days, when things had gotten particularly raucous, Heidi had joined him, keen to jump in with defence she'd never received.

Tweek had to take her aside and convince her that, as much as he appreciated the sentiment behind it, she was making things much worse.

Predictably, she didn't listen, and returned a few more times before giving up on her own when faced with Clyde at maximum theatrics.

Luckily there wasn't any risk of Cartman joining the fray, as he hadn't eaten lunch at school in years, boasting on several occasions that he could 'afford to eat at actual restaurants that serve real food'.

So, Tweek was left at the mercy of his former friend's appraisal.

As much as he wanted to bite back, there wasn't a lot he could say to defend himself.

Mainly, he was content talking to Craig again, and hoped that, if he withstood the barrage of criticisms everybody had been holding in, eventually they would settle down.

 


	7. That Boy is a Bottom

Tweek was dozing on the couch after another absurdly long shift. Both his parents had gone in to take over, leaving the house empty and unusually peaceful.

His head lulled, the phone loosely grasped in his hand starting to slip, just as a loud ring erupted from it.

Startling, he fumbled to lower the volume.

It was an odd time for anybody he knew to be online, let alone calling.

Cartman clearly enjoyed the mystique of appearing at random times, so they'd only ever spoken in person.

And he'd chatted with Craig that morning.

To his surprise, Clyde's name flashed on the screen.

Frowning, Tweek lifted the phone to his ear. “... Hello?”

“Hey dude. Sorry about all the shit I said. Do you have the novel study questions done?”

“Huh?”

“For first period tomorrow. I totally spaced. Can I copy off you?”

“OH SHIT shit shit.”

“I'll take that as a no. Hang on imma add Craig.”

After several random beeps as Clyde failed to work his phone, then a few rings, Craig picked up, sounding like he'd been sleeping.

“What?”

“Do you have the homework done? The questions!”

“Yeah?”

“Can we come over and copy?”

“We?”

“Hey.” Said Tweek.

Craig made a noncommittal drowsy noise.

“Okay, cool.” Said Clyde. “I'll be there in a few minutes.”

“Uh... Clyde, can you pick me up?” Tweek tried his luck.

“No can do. I'm on the bus. Car's out of gas.”

A scoff came from Craig's end of the line. “I guess I'll see you soon.”

“Thanks.” A _doot_ signalled that Clyde had left the conversation.

“Sorry.” Tweek murmured.

“Don't worry about it.”

Quickly throwing a sweater over his pyjamas, Tweek grabbed his book-bag and headed out into the frigid night.

By the time he arrived at Craig's, ushered in -thankfully- by his friend rather than his parents or sister, Clyde was already hard at work scribbling away, muttering occasionally under his breath.

“No guarantees they're even close to right.” Craig warned.

“Better than nothing.” Tweek replied, extracting his own notebook and sitting on Clyde's opposite side, transcribing what his friend had written, trying his best to change it slightly so neither of them would get into trouble.

His pace was much less frantic than the other boy.

“You got curfew or something?”

“No. Meeting Jessie. Gotta hurry.” Came the staccato reply.

Behind them, Craig flopped down on his bed. It was unmade, obviously recently slept in.

Tweek instantly felt bad for imposing, particularly since he was shamefully giddy at the prospect of being alone with him once Clyde was gone.

That had been one of their rules --always have a buffer friend-- and it was about to be broken by no fault of his own.

He didn't have to wait long.

It took exactly fifteen minutes before the brunette shot to his feet, not even glancing at the pages he crammed into his bag. Already smashing out texts, Clyde threw a quick 'thanks' behind him, and rushed from the room.

Tweek watched him go. “I see what you mean.”

“Hm?” Craig looked over.

“About being left high and dry.”

“Yup. But **you're** not going anywhere... right?” There was an uncommon note of doubt in his voice.

“I mean, not if you don't want me to. I probably _should_ finish copying these.”

“What made you forget?” Craig asked, not quite nonchalant.

“My dad thinks a billion shifts will keep me out of trouble.”

“That sucks, dude.”

“It really does.”

For a time they sat in comfortable silence, Tweek working away despite the mounting anticipation.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Tweek blanched, a myriad of images from his recent trysts flashing through his mind.

“Gnn-- no.”

Chuckling, Craig slid off the bed onto the floor beside him. “It's about me and you, if that helps.”

“Oh.” He couldn't form any thoughts, so he simply nodded.

“Why did you kiss me that night?”

Feeling himself blushing already, Tweek turned his eyes back down to the homework. “It's hard to explain.”

“Try.” Craig replied flatly.

“Well.” He let out a slow breath. “I guess I wanted to see if... maybe you felt something for me. That I could kind of... draw it out.”

“That was a pretty jarring tactic.”

“I know.” Tweek dared a look over. “I don't always think things through.”

“That's not news.” Craig leaned back, arms folded behind his head. “I've known you for years, dude. You haven't changed as much as you think.”

“You're probably the only person who believes that.” He fell silent, filling in the last few blanks before putting his stuff away.

Craig was watching him.

Keenly aware of the unnecessarily small space the other boy had left between them, Tweek dithered with his bag. He knew he should leave, but something in the air made him stay, keep the conversation going.

“So, you've been thinking about that?”

“A little.” Craig admitted.

“Why?”

“Because it was a bizarre first kiss.”

Somehow they'd gotten closer.

Tweek's leg was almost brushing against his friend's, though he didn't remember purposefully moving. It made expectations bubble up, unwelcome scenarios start to overwhelm his guard.

“You wouldn't want to... check again, right?” Craig caught Tweek's eye, turning toward him.

For the first time there was a jolt between them, an invitation.

Though Craig wasn't exactly jumping on him, he wasn't shying away either.

“... maybe one more test.” Tweek edged closer.

He was being regarded with an expression altogether different from the platonic love he'd seen for years.

Hazarding the first move, Tweek slid his hand onto Craig's thigh, ensuring that he hadn't gone completely nuts and was imagining the whole exchange.

But the other boy didn't object.

Cautiously, he placed his opposite hand on Craig's shoulder, leaving only the barest gap between them.

He could feel the breath, the warmth of proximity, and saw Craig's eyes flutter shut before following suit.

Chaste and tentative, they kissed.

Unlike the previous time, Craig wasn't rigid; his hands came to rest on Tweek's back.

In tandem, they parted their lips, tongues meeting lightly, unhurried.

Tweek pressed slightly closer, sliding his knee between Craig's legs.

It took every ounce of restraint not to launch directly into groping and disrobing, but he still didn't know how much of this was experimentation on his friend's part.

Slowly, he reached the buttons of Craig's PJ bottoms, fingers grazing over the thin fabric.

The contact evoked a moan that decimated what was left of Tweek's will.

Abruptly, the embrace jumped from controlled attentiveness to clumsy fervour.

Tweek pushed Craig onto the ground, straddling his hips. Pulling his sweater over his head, he tossed it aside before re-initiating the kiss.

Impatiently, Craig threw a leg over Tweek's back, encouraging him forward. A surprised gasp escaped the latter, followed by muffled groans as they ground against each-other.

In the back of Tweek's mind, a mantra of _holy shit this is happening holy shit_ was playing on loop.

He snaked a hand between them, just managing to loosen the first button of Craig's pants before a loud exclamation of “oh my **GOD!** ” made them look up abruptly.

Trisha was at the door, now covering her eyes with one hand. “Craig. Mom says it's time for your friends to leave.” She turned on her heel, uttering another, slightly quieter 'oh my god' before retreating down the hall.

Tweek looked down into Craig's flushed face. With a slow, shaky breath, he sat up, climbing to his feet.

“So.” Craig managed, still a little breathless, but smiling. He stood as well, handing Tweek his bag.

“Yeah.”

“I'll see you tomorrow... in class?” There was a note in Craig's voice, a vulnerability, that made Tweek's insides lurch with sudden realization.

Quickly he uttered a short, “Sorry, yes! Bye!”, before turning out the door, flinching at his own unforgivably awkward exit.

 

 

Sunrise crested the mountains, glaring off the hard-packed snow and salt-caked gravel.

Cartman was in his driveway, loading up the bed of his truck, Tweek perched on its side, sipping coffee.

“So what would you say I am, on the like 'gay scale'.”

“Three point five grams.” Cartman heaved a crate up and wiped his brow. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know, like you're a ''power top'' or something?”

Eric snorted. “Labels!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tweek rolled his eyes. “Nobody's anything ever unless they want to be whatever.”

“Poetic. Are you making your Grindr profile?” He threw a few boxes one-handed over the edge.

“Exactly. You showed me the world, so now I'm going to go ho'ing across America and fulfil my destiny.”

Opposite him, Cartman shook his gloves off into the back of the truck and crossed his arms over the side. He didn't laugh at Tweek's hyperbolic response, but he was smiling shrewdly.

“Don't do that.” Tweek warned. “That borderline psychic bullshit.” He took a great gulp of coffee, trying his best to hide any expression that would give away his motivation for asking all these questions.

“Craig's a bottom.”

Managing not to choke, Tweek simply threw up his arms. “Jesus Christ!”

“No, I can see it.” Eric admitted. “He's half queen bitch, half passive prick. Two plus two equals twink.”

Tweek groaned, shuffling his feet a little. “It's not supposed to be that way, right? Like... in the drawings it was always the other way around.”

Cartman arched a brow. “You're still taking that stuff seriously? _Really_?”

“Well. Fuck. I don't know. How do _you_ know so much? I thought me and Craig were the only gay kids here.”

“Sure, and your celebrity inspired us all. To hide like it's 1939.”

“But our town's so accepting...” His own words sounded unconvinced.

“Goddamnit, Tweek. South Park isn't accepting, it's just so fucked up nobody can tell what's going on.”

“Maaaaan.” He moaned. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Quit being a faggot and fuck your boyfriend.”

“I feel weird, starting stuff.”

“You're the one who _wanted_ to, if memory serves.”

“True.”

“So there you go.” Cartman rounded the truck, snatching Tweek's coffee from his hand, downing the remains in one swig.

“Now get the fuck outta here, I have to go to work.”

 

What had been a thoughtful stroll to school graduated into a nervous trot as the building came into view.

The parking lot was already packed. Throngs of students milled around the main entrance, still more were arriving in small groups, gesturing excitedly.

Tweek frowned, hurriedly pulling out his phone to check the time.

The giant lock-screen clock clearly showed 6:15am, almost two hours before classes started.

But the next number to catch his eye felt like a palm to the chest:.

 _518 new messages_.

“What the f--”

Tweek yelped as fingers gripped his arm, and he was pulled bodily back around the corner.

“Where the fuck were you.” Craig's voice was characteristically passive, despite the words. Only the tension in his shoulders betrayed how rattled he really was.

“... what's going on?”

“Obviously Trish saw us, she blabbed, everybody knows we're back together.” Craig let a long breath out through his nose.

Tweek opened his mouth, but after considering how wildly inappropriate it would be to discuss the semantics of their new relationship at _that_ particular moment, snapped it shut.

Instead, he looked down at his phone.

The aftermath of twelve hysterical hours in the fandom was impressive: hundreds of new pictures, a good dozen short stories, and threads of countless messages discussing the finer points of what would happen next.

He'd become desensitized to the lovey-dovey stuff about himself and Craig. Even the raunchiest art didn't freak him out the way it used to.

But there was something unsettling him now.

Tweek paused on a drawing depicting what had happened the previous night (though some liberties had been taken with just how far they'd gone... and how much rope was used).

Scrolling back up confirmed it: every single piece depicted him leading.

_Craig's a bottom._

Cartman's smug words from earlier that morning came back, much less impressive now.

Mentally, he kicked himself.

Eric was, essentially, a fangirl. Hell, he was probably one of the people up all night, starting shit in the discussion posts.

That new element -the hateful judgement that came with Cartman- was what gutted Tweek.

“Fucking dick...” He hissed.

“What?”

Tweek's head snapped back up. “Let's leave.”

Craig raised a brow. “It'll be like this again tomorrow, you know.”

“I don't care. I can't face them. It's been over a month of people hating me. And it's not better now!” He held up his phone, showing a blingee with thousands of up-votes.

_KYS TWEEK_

“It won't be like before...”

“It wasn't ever going to be.”

Tweek grit his teeth, needled by Craig's unflappable calm. “Well I'm glad YOU have it all figured out.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You didn't have the _whole town_ gunning for your blood!”

“No, I had the whole town throwing me a nonstop pity party.”

“At least you had somebody to talk to.”

“Right. Let me pick who was more comforting... my patronizing friends, or the groupies trying to set me up with _literally ever other guy_.”

“You just said it-- your FRIENDS. I didn't have any!”  
“Yeah. You did. Cartman.”

Tweek rolled his eyes. “It wasn't like that.” He grumbled.

“So, let me get this straight... known gossip and rumourmonger, Eric Cartman, never talked to you. Just jerkin' it at the circuit party?”

The scowl Tweek shot back was met in kind.

“I thought you said you weren't jealous of that.”

“I'm not jealous that Cartman fucked you. I'm disturbed by it.”

Tweek flinched at the emotionless, cutting words.

Craig continued, tone a little less steady. “I'm jealous you confided in some-one else.”

Guilt washed over Tweek, drowning his response.

There were no excuses. He'd done exactly that, not even an hour ago.

Craig was looking back toward the school. With a sigh, he relented. “For get it. Let's get this over with.”

He held out his hand.

Tweek stared at it.

They'd been back together for less than a day, and already there was so much he hadn't told Craig.

He looked into his friend's face. The anger skewing it faded to confusion.

“Tweek?”

“I...” His mind screeched at him: bare truths, heartfelt confessions, questions he so desperately wanted answered.

But every time he met those earnest blue eyes the words stuck in his throat.

Culpability curdled in his gut.

Turning, Tweek abruptly vomited into the snow bank.

“Dude!” Craig stepped to the side. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Stop... worrying... about me.” He managed between dry-heaves.

“... you just hurled like six cups of coffee all over the place. That's cause for concern.”

“I gotta go.” Tweek panted.

Craig frowned. “You want me to walk with you?”

“Ng... no.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me cook you more delicious things you don't want~


End file.
